Two to Tangle
by davros72
Summary: My first-ever RW fanfic, featuring Nazis, treasure, and a certain adventurer-archeologist...


Remember WENN and its characters are copyright Rupert Holmes, Howard Meltzer, AMC, and one more character copyright... (see bottom of the page (no peeking!!), it'll ruin the surprise!) :) No infringement is intended, the story is purely for entertaiment (although that's really up to the reader as to whether it's entertaining or not, isn't it?).   
  
  
TWO TO TANGLE   
by Kevin Schultz  
=============================================   
  
  
"Gertie, you let me know the minute our guest arrives, all right?" Betty Roberts asked as she zipped past the switchboard. She didn't even bother to hang up her coat.   
  
  
"Sure thing, dear," Gertrude Reece answered. She waited until Betty entered her office and closed the door, then turned to Mr. Eldridge who was seated across from her on the bench, and said, "She seems rather excited over a stuffy old professor."  
  
  
"What's so terrible about being old and stuffed?" Mr. Eldridge replied with a twinkle in his eyes. "I always feel wonderful after I've had my Thanksgiving dinner with all the trimmings...and a bit sleepy."  
  
  
"Oh, shush, Tom, you know what I meant."  
  
  
"Of course. I don't know what's gotten into Betty, either."  
  
  
"Well, I for one can do without one more wheezing old stuffed shirt who thinks he knows a heck of a lot more than everyone else, just because he teaches at a University!" Gertie harrumphed.  
  
  
"Understoo--"  
  
  
"Gertie! Tom!" Scott Sherwood grinned. "My two favorite people right here!"  
  
  
"Why, Scott! We're your two favorite people in the whole world?" Gertie beamed.  
  
  
"No, you're my two favorite people of all the people that happen to be right here."  
  
  
"Oh." Mr. Eldridge's face fell.  
  
  
"What's up, Gertie?" Scott asked breezily.  
  
  
"Everyone's here, already at work," Gertie answered, adding under her breath, "unlike some people..."   
  
  
"Great!"  
  
  
"Betty's all hot and bothered about our special guest today, a professor, apparently."  
  
  
"Oh, really?" Scott paused, then said, "I can compete with a dowdy old coot. No offense, Mr. Eldridge."  
  
  
"None taken," Mr. Eldridge grunted.  
  
  
"You will let me know when he arrives, so I can get a good look at him, won't you?"  
  
  
Mr. Eldridge smiled sagely and nodded. "Understoo--"  
  
  
"Excuse me..."  
  
  
A head popped round the doorway to the station.  
  
  
"This is WENN, the radio station, isn't it?" The newcomer asked as he entered. He was tall, but not too tall. He had a strong, weathered face, and appeared to be in his late 30's. His suit fit him well, the pants perhaps a bit baggier than was the norm. He carried his hat and some papers with him.  
  
  
"Yes, it is, sir," Gertie welcomed him, clearly impressed with the newcomer. She knew a handsome man when she saw one.  
  
  
"I'm supposed to be interviewed today, I'm Professor--"  
  
  
"Ah! So you're the competition--ah, ahem, I mean, the Professor," Scott said. "Oh, boy," he muttered to himself. Where's his grey hair? Where were his wrinkles? Weren't professors supposed to be old, wizened figures? Not young and handsome. "I'm Scott Sherwood, one of the actors, this is Mr. Eldridge, and this is Gertie."  
  
  
Mr. Eldridge stood up, and peered more closely at the Professor. "Hmmm, you seem rather familiar. Have we met?"  
  
  
"Not that I recall," the Professor replied somewhat bemusedly.  
  
  
"Hmm," Mr. Eldridge continued. "Well, we probably will at some point. Ah! Yes, we just did, didn't we? You see, I was right!" Mr. Eldridge nodded, pleased with himself, and sat back down.  
  
  
The Professor smiled and turned slowly to Scott.   
  
  
"That's our Mr. Eldridge!" Scott grinned.  
  
  
"Ah, I'm here to see Miss Betty Roberts," the Professor continued.  
  
  
"I was afraid we'd come to that," Scott said rather resignedly.  
  
  
"Excuse me?"  
  
  
"Ah, I mean, I was afraid we've come to the conclusion that we should go see Betty right now!"   
  
  
"Nice cover," Gertie whispered.  
  
  
"Thanks. Um, right this way, Professor!"  
  
  
Scott led the Professor to Betty's office, and knocked. "Betty, our special guest is here."  
  
  
Betty called back, "Show him in, please!"  
  
  
Scott opened the door and ushered the Professor in, closing the door behind him once they were both inside.  
  
  
"Welcome to WENN, we're so glad you were able to stop by and appear on our station with us, Professor Jones," Betty enthused.  
  
  
"Please," the Professor replied with a charming smirk on his face, "call me Indiana..."  
  
  
"Indiana! I'm from Elkhart!" Betty said, a bit too loudly.   
  
  
Indiana Jones kept smiling, but a questioning look came into his eyes.  
  
  
Betty, embarrased, indicated for Professor Jones to take a seat. "I'm sorry, I sometimes get carried away, especially about home."  
  
  
"That's okay, Miss Roberts," Indiana said.  
  
  
"Please call me Betty, Professor."  
  
  
"Like I said, call me Indiana. Or Indy, if you like."  
  
  
"Okay. Indy," Betty tried, with a sheepish grin on her face. "So, were you named after the state?"  
  
  
"No," Indy said.   
  
  
There was another pause. Clearly Professor Jones, Indy, was not going to be much more forthcoming about his name, thought Scott. And another thing, he thought, what's with Betty? She seems a little to giddy for my tastes. Don't tell me she's fallen for this lunk? This "Indiana" character just better not get any ideas while Scott Sherwood was around...  
  
  
"Well, Indy," Betty continued, "again, thank you for stopping by. I understand the museum's travelling exhibit is only in town for one day."  
  
  
"That's right," Indy nodded. "The National Museum wants to stop in a different city each week during its year-long tour, and the next stop is in Chicago. And with the set-up time, the tear-down time, and all that, it takes a bit longer than you might think."  
  
  
"I can imagine. I remember reading about King Tut's tomb when I was a little girl. It seemed so exotic!"  
  
  
"Well, the real tomb is a bit dirty, and unfortunately the tomb raiders weren't too careful with the things they did leave behind, but--"  
  
  
"You've actually been to King Tut's tomb?" Betty asked, incredulously.  
  
  
"Oh, yes. But that's not why I came here. I thought we had a radio show to do?"  
  
  
"That's right," Scott jumped in. "We don't want to waste another second of Miss Roberts' time, now, do we?" He grinned as he opened the door again, heading into the hallway, clearly expecting Indy to get the hint.  
  
  
"Right," Indy said, glancing between the two. "Could you excuse us for just one moment, Mr. Sherwood?"  
  
  
"Please, call me Third Wheel," Scott muttered as Indy swung the door in his face. He pressed his ear up against the door, straining to hear something. Unfortunately, he couldn't make out a thing.  
  
  
"Scotty!" A voice cried out.  
  
  
Scott quickly pulled his ear away from the door. "Hi there, Mackie! What's up?"  
  
  
Mackie Bloom paused, and asked, "What's the matter with the door, Scott?"  
  
  
"It seems to be soundproofed."  
  
  
"So what's the problem?"  
  
  
"That IS the problem!"  
  
  
"What?" Mackie asked, looking confused.  
  
  
"Right now, Betty is in there with our special guest, Professor Indiana Jones."  
  
  
Mackie's eyes lit up. "Professor Jones is Professor Indiana Jones? Dr. Indiana Jones? The one the papers were all talking about a few years ago? Holy cow! Wait'll the guys at the Buttery hear about this!"  
  
  
Scott nodded, glumly. "Yeah. Seems he needed a moment alone with Betty before he went on the air."  
  
  
"You don't say..." Mackie chuckled.  
  
  
Just then the door opened. Scott quickly tucked his hands in his pockets, feigning nonchalance. "Oh, hey there, Indy!" He grinned somewhat thinly. "Ready for your big debut?"  
  
  
"Let's go," Indy smiled.  
  
  
Scott led Indy into the studio. Mackie turned to Betty. "Do you know who that was?" He asked in awe.  
  
  
"Indiana Jones," Betty answered. "Have you heard of him?"  
  
  
"Have I heard of him?" Mackie asked incredulously. "He was in all the papers a few years back. They couldn't say a whole lot because of national security, but it sounded like he was in some heavy-duty action. Real two-fisted stuff! Wow..." Mackie trailed off.  
  
  
"Well, he's here to promote tomorrow's showing of the National Museum's travelling Egyptian Antiquities exhibit," Betty told Mackie, folding her arms, and leaning against the doorjamb. "He's not at all what I expected..." A grin was forming on her lips...  
  
  
*****  
  
  
Meanwhile, in the studio, Eugenia Bremer's organ music swelled, then faded, as Scott intoned, "Ladies and gentlemen, tonight we bring you a special guest here on 'A Weekend In Pittsburgh'. Here are your hosts, Hilary Booth and Jeff Singer."  
  
  
"Thank you, Scott," Jeff Singer smiled at Scott, then at Indy. "Tonight we welcome Professor Indiana Jones. Professor Jones, what is it that brings you here to Pittsburgh?"  
  
  
Indy approached the microphone, and cleared his throat. "Ah, um, I'm actually here to, uh, promote the Egyptian Antiquities exhibit from the National Museum. It's, uh, currently here in Pittsburgh, for one day only." Indy looked around uncomfortably, clearly not used to the studio.  
  
  
"Professor Jones," Hilary Booth smoothly interjected, "I understand it's only stopping in one city in Pennsylvania during its entire tour, is that right?"  
  
  
Indy nodded. Hilary smiled, and motioned for Indy to speak up. "Uh, that's right, Miss Booth," Indy continued, a bit sheepishly. "It will be at the Pittsburgh Museum all day tomorrow."  
  
  
"I see," Jeff said. "And you are touring with the exhibit? Is this for the entire tour?"  
  
  
"Ah, no, I'm just with it for the next coupla stops. I have my job to consider, you know."  
  
  
"And what is it that you do, Professor?" Hilary asked.  
  
  
"I'm currently Professor of Archaeology at Marshall College in Connecticut," Indy answered, clearly feeling more comfortable now he was on familiar ground. "I've been with the college for several years now. I occasionally do some fieldwork, usually at the behest of the National Museum and its curator, Dr. Marcus Brody."  
  
  
Indy started looking around more animatedly. "So this is where you do all your shows, huh? Wow, it's a lot smaller than you would think, isn't it?"  
  
  
Jeff and Hilary exchanged a glance.  
  
  
*****  
  
  
"Good evening," a new voice said. Gertie looked up at the doorway. "I am here to see Miss Roberts."  
  
  
Gertie didn't like the looks of this newcomer at all. He was thin, pale, wore little round glasses, and seemed much too pleased with himself. "Can I help you?"  
  
  
"Yes, I am Mr. Frederick Smith, of Smith Sausages, I am here to talk about advertisements."  
  
  
"Is Miss Roberts expecting you?"  
  
  
"I do not think so. I suddenly got the urge to sponsor something."  
  
  
Gertie looked doubtful. "I'll tell her you're here."   
  
  
"Thank you, Miss Reece. And while you speak with her, please do not mention the fact that I have a gun trained on you..."  
  
  
*****  
  
  
Gertie and Mr. Eldridge sat with their backs to one another, tied to the chairs they were sitting on. "So much for being my hero," Gertie grumbled.  
  
  
Mr. Eldridge raised his eyebrows. "Well, he did have a gun. Back in my younger days I would've charged straight at him, knocked his gun away, and given him a good stern talking to."  
  
  
"A talking to?"  
  
  
"Yes..." Mr. Eldridge paused. "I wonder how the show's going."  
  
  
"What?" Gertie cried. "A man with a gun wrecks my switchboard, ties us both up, shuts us in the coatroom, locks the door, and is heading for Betty, and you're wondering how the show's going?"  
  
  
Mr. Eldridge nodded proudly. "We have a saying...'The show must go on.'"  
  
  
Gertie sighed. "Tom, what am I going to do with you?" She shook her head.  
  
  
"Well, for starters you could untie me."  
  
  
"But I'm tied up as well!"  
  
  
"That's not my fault."  
  
  
"It is your fault!"  
  
  
"It is? Oh, in that case, I'm sorry..."  
  
  
*****  
  
  
"Thank you so much for visiting us, Professor Jones," Hilary said, shaking hands with Indy. "And I hope all our listeners will visit you tomorrow at the Pittsburgh Museum, from 10 a.m. Until 3 p.m."  
  
  
"Up next," Jeff announced, "Colonel Moore at the General Store, so stay tuned..."  
  
  
Eugenia struck up a boisterous tune on the organ, as C.J. Indicated the microphones were cut off.  
  
  
"It's been a pleasure, Professor," Hilary said, as she continued to shake hands with Indy.  
  
  
"Can I have my hand back, please?" Indy asked with a smile.  
  
  
Jeff looked at Hilary sternly.   
  
  
"Why, of course," Hilary replied, letting go of Indy. She noticed Jeff, and said indignantly, "What are you staring at, Jeff?"  
  
  
Indy wandered over to Mr. Foley. "So you make all the sound effects yourself, huh?"  
  
  
Mr. Foley nodded.  
  
  
"That's amazing," Indy continued. "Even the explosions and gunfire? How do you do those?"  
  
  
Mr. Foley made to speak, but was interrupted by Scott. "We don't want to be keeping Professor Jones, Mr. Foley, now do we?"  
  
  
Mr. Foley paused, then shook his head.  
  
  
"Of course not," Scott continued, "he has to be on his way, don't you, Indy?"  
  
  
"Well, actually," Indy interrupted, "I need to talk with Betty again before I leave."  
  
  
Scott looked crestfallen, but covered quickly. "Of course. You know where the office is, right?"  
  
  
Indy grinned and nodded. "I won't be long."  
  
  
"You better not," Scott murmured.  
  
  
As Indy was leaving, he bumped into Mackie, who was just entering. "Hi there, Professor Jones," Mackie enthused, "may I call you Indiana? You know, I seem to remember a bunch of stuff in the papers a while back about some real wild adventures. Anything you wanna share with us?"  
  
  
"I'm afraid I really can't talk about it," Indy replied. "Classified, you know."  
  
  
"Oh," Mackie said, disappointedly. "Say, do you know Cutter Dunlap? He was here not too long ago, and--"  
  
  
Indy rolled his eyes. "Please, don't get me started on that phony. The man's a complete fool."  
  
  
"Yeah," Mackie grinned, "you shoulda heard what we did to him." He giggled.  
  
  
"Some other time, maybe, I've gotta see Betty. Excuse me." Indy walked out.  
  
  
Mackie watched him go. "Wow. That guy's something."  
  
  
Hilary arched her eyebrows. "What are you so worked up for?"  
  
  
Mackie shrugged. "That guy's a real hero! He's done, well..." Mackie trailed off. "Well, I'm not sure, but it must be really something if the papers couldn't talk about it and neither can he!"  
  
  
Scott looked at Jeff. "Great. A hero."  
  
  
Indy knocked on the office door, and heard Betty say, "If that's you, Indy, come on in." Indy opened the door and walked in, shutting it closed behind him.  
  
  
Betty was at her desk, across from a thin, pale man with glasses.  
  
  
"Indy," she said, "this man claims to be Frederick Smith of Smith Sausages. I'm not so sure about that, though..." Betty pointed the gun she was holding at Smith, who raised his hands.  
  
  
"Good work, Betty," Indy said, as he moved to the seated Smith, and began frisking the man.  
  
  
"He came in just like you said he would, Indy," Betty replied, a proud smile on her face. "He came in, claiming to be a sponsor, but before he could pull out his gun," she continued, as Indy removed the holstered pistol from under Smith's armpit, "I took out the gun you gave me before you went on the show."  
  
  
Indy pocketed Smith's gun, and took his own gun back from Betty. "Now, maybe we can get some answers out of this guy. Who are you really, and who are you working for?"  
  
  
Smith closed his eyes and was silent.  
  
  
"Who are you?" Indy yelled loudly.  
  
  
Smith winced. "Please do not shout, it upsets me so." He went silent again.  
  
  
Indy sighed, and pointed his gun at Smith. "Please don't make me threaten you, I'm so tired of having to threaten people with guns."  
  
  
Smith opened his eyes, and saw the gun pointed at him. He sighed as well. "Very well. I am tired of having guns pointed at me, so I will tell you what you want to know."  
  
  
There was a pause, and Indy glanced at Betty. He turned back to Smith, and prompted, "Well?"  
  
  
"Well, what?"  
  
  
"Who are you, and who are you working for? Why are you here?"  
  
  
"Oh, good, I can answer those!" Smith responded with glee. "I am Frederick Schmidt, I am a Nazi agent undercover here in the United States, and I am here to find a certain item left behind by a colleague of mine."  
  
  
Betty's eyes narrowed. "What colleague?" She queried.  
  
  
Smith turned to Betty, and said, "Why, Rollie Pruitt, of course, my dear."  
  
  
Betty shivered. "I had a feeling he was involved. That low-down Nazi sympathizer had his claws in too many puddings if you ask me."  
  
  
Indy asked Smith, "What 'certain item' are you here for?"  
  
  
Smith grinned his maniacal grin. "I am so glad you asked! Our friend Mr. Pruitt had in his posession before his arrest a particular artifact that the Nazis want back. He was keeping it from us, hoping to use it as leverage to get some favors from us. Of course, once he was taken into custody, he refused to divulge the information of its whereabouts to our investigators. Therefore we have had to search everywhere Mr. Pruitt has been since the time he came into posession of the artifact. We have checked out his offices and residences from Boston to Pittsburgh. This little sideshow of his is the last place on our list. It is always in the last place you look, isn't it, Dr. Jones?"  
  
  
Indy moved closer, the gun pointing at Smith's head. "You still haven't told us exactly what this artifact is."  
  
  
"Oh, really? I am so terribly sorry, I get so carried away with myself when I get excited, and as you might expect, having a gun pointed at one's self tends to get one rather excited. What our dear friend Mr. Pruitt had in his posession was the Key of Constantinople. It is said to give whoever posesses it the power to see what anyone else sees. A lot of superstitious nonsense, but Der Fuhrer, of course, wants it back." His smile disappeared. "He wants it back now."  
  
  
Smith leaped out of his chair at Indy, knocking the gun out of Indy's hand. Smith rammed his head up against Indy's chin, forcing Indy to stumble back against the door. Indy kicked out at Smith's knees, and connected solidly. As Smith doubled over in pain, Indy cracked Smith's jaw with a solid right hook. Smith was sent flying backwards, tripping over his chair, and smashing his head against the wall.  
  
  
Smith didn't move.  
  
  
Indy heaved a sigh of relief, and picked up his gun. He noticed Betty staring at him with frank admiration. "Please, Betty, go and make sure your receptionist is okay," he said, as he checked Smith's pulse. "Smith is out cold, it'll be a while til he wakes up."  
  
  
Betty opened the door and headed out to check on Gertie. A moment later, Scott came into the office, and saw   
Indy standing over Smith. "What's going on, Indy?" Scott asked.  
  
  
"This man is a Nazi spy, sent here to collect a relic that Rollie Pruitt hid somewhere in this station," Indy explained. "He was going to pull a gun on Betty, but--"  
  
  
Scott rushed over to Indy, concerned. "Is Betty all right?" he asked anxiously.  
  
  
Indy smiled, patting Scott's shoulder. "She's fine. In fact, she pulled a gun on him first before he could."  
  
  
"A gun? Betty doesn't carry a gun... " Realization dawned on Scott. "A-ha, so that's what you were talking about in here earlier."  
  
  
"Exactly," Indy said. "Now, do you have any idea where Pruitt may have hidden something?"  
  
  
"Well, I'd say the desk, but I've searched it thoroughly myself on several occasions, and found nothing out of the ordinary."  
  
  
Indy nodded. "Yeah, that'd be too obvious." He thought for a moment. "Is there somewhere he particularly didn't go? Somewhere he seemed to avoid, as though not to draw attention towards it?"  
  
  
Scott pondered. "Hmmm... Well, he didn't think much of the writing this station did, he felt the writing got in the way of making money."  
  
  
"The writer's room?"  
  
  
"Yep."   
  
  
"Show it to me."  
  
  
Indy and Scott left the office and ran into Betty in the hallway.   
  
  
"Smith had Gertie and Mr. Eldridge tied up in the cloakroom," she said. "I untied them, and sent Gertie out to get the police, since her switchboard is wrecked."  
  
  
"Good work, Betty!" Scott said. "I'm glad to see you're okay."  
  
  
"To tell you the truth, I was a bit nervous pointing a gun at the man," Betty said.  
  
  
"We think Pruitt may have hidden the Key in the writer's room," Indy said as they opened the door to the writer's room. They went inside. "Now, where on earth in this place could someone hide something?"  
  
  
"In the files?" Scott suggested. "No one ever looks in there..." Under his breath he added, "...unless they're looking for signatures..."  
  
  
"Scott, you check the files," Indy ordered. "Betty, you check the floor for any weak spots, hollow sounds, or recent repairwork. I'm gonna check the wall."  
  
  
"Right," Scott and Betty said in unison. Everyone got to work.  
  
  
A moment later, Indy murmured, "Hello..." He had spotted a discoloration on the wall. "This has been recently repainted. There could be something behind there." He pulled back his fist.  
  
  
"Uh..." Scott mumbled. "Indy?"  
  
  
Indy let go with a hard punch, his fist hitting the wall solidly. Unfortunately, just as solidly as the wall itself. It failed to crack open. Indy pulled back his fist, his hand smarting with the pain.  
  
  
Scott continued. "I, uh, had to repaint that after Hilary threw a bowl of soup at me and it hit the wall..."  
  
  
"You could have said something," Indy growled.  
  
  
"Well, I tried."  
  
  
"Well, maybe you should've said something a little quicker, huh?" Indy fumed.  
  
  
Betty shook her head in exasperation. "If you boys are through with your games, can we keep searching?" She stamped her foot.   
  
  
...And a decidedly hollow sound emanated from her footstomp.  
  
  
The three searchers froze. Indy then dove at the ground beneath Betty's feet. Betty quickly leapt out of Indy's way. Indy pulled out a tiny knife from inside his coat, and pried at the flooring. He managed to open up a section of the floor, revealing a little hole underneath. He reached in, and pulled out a dirty black pouch. "Aha!" He cried.  
Indy opened the pouch, and pulled out a gem-encrusted key. "Hmph," Indy said. "A Key that actually looks like a key. You don't see many of those."  
  
  
"What is it?" Scott asked.  
  
  
"The Key of Constantinople," Indy explained. "It's claimed that whoever holds it has the power to see through anyone else's eyes."  
  
  
"How does it work?" Betty asked.  
  
  
"I don't care," Indy said, standing up and pocketing the Key. "And frankly, I just want to get this somewhere safe--"  
  
  
A scream interrupted his sentence. "That sounded like it came from the studio!" Betty cried.  
  
  
Indy, Scott, and Betty looked at one another. "Did I forget to tie Smith up?" Indy asked.  
  
  
"I think we both forgot," Scott said as the three of them rushed out and headed for the studio.  
  
  
They burst in, to find Smith holding the cast at gunpoint. He swung around at their entrance, covering them with the gun. Scott rushed in front of Betty, putting himself between her and the gun.   
  
  
"Hands up!" Smith shouted. Everyone obeyed. Smith smiled. "I want that Key, or I start shooting my hostages. Understood? All right!" Smith barked. "Everyone over there, move!" He shepherded everyone to the space between Mr. Foley and Eugenia. Mr. Foley remained at his station, as did Eugenia. "Everybody keep your hands up."  
  
  
Scott tried to keep himself between the gun and Betty. He noticed Betty keeping herself close to Indy. Well, he thought resignedly, as long as we both keep her safe, she'll be okay.  
  
  
"Now, if you would be so kind as to hand over the guns, please," Smith ordered. "And do it slowly, Dr. Jones. No funny business."  
  
  
Indy brought out his own gun first. "Put it on the floor, and kick it gently over here, Dr. Jones," Smith said. "Thank you. Now the one you took from me."  
  
  
Indy took out Smith's original gun, set it on the floor, and smoothly kicked it over to Smith. "Where'd you get your new toy, Smith?" Indy asked as Smith pocketed his newly acquired guns.  
  
  
Smith grinned his leering grin again. "I kept it hidden in a holster around my right ankle," he said, clearly enjoying the moment. "I was amazed when you did not search any further than the one gun. Who would have thought the great Indiana Jones would be so absent-minded as to think a Nazi spy would keep only one gun on his person?" Smith cackled.  
  
  
"That guy's really getting on my nerves," Scott said quietly. "That silly grin and that ridiculous laugh, it's embarrasing, the guy's a complete cliche!"  
  
  
"Put the gun away, kid," Indy said smoothly. "We'll help you look for the Key, just put the gun away."  
  
  
"No," Smith decided, "I do not think so. I believe you have already found it."  
  
  
"What makes you think that?" Indy asked.  
  
  
"It's sticking out of your coat pocket," Smith said with a sneer.  
  
  
Indy glanced down at his coat. Sure enough, the gem-encrusted Key was just barely peeping out of the top of the pocket of his coat. "Just my luck," he grumbled.  
  
  
"Hand it over, Dr. Jones," Smith said. Indy took out the key, and slid it across the floor as well.  
  
  
"I hope you enjoy it!" Indy yelled at the top of his lungs.  
  
  
Smith winced in agony. He pointed the gun straight at Indy's head. "I told you not to do that, Dr. Jones!" Smith hissed. "Must I put a bullet in you as a reminder?"  
  
  
"No," Indy said, glancing at Eugenia seated at the organ, "that won't be necessary."  
  
  
Smith paused to collect himself. Indy flicked his gaze again at Eugenia, shouting, "Now!"  
  
  
Eugenia blasted a cacophony of disharmony from the organ, completely disorientating Smith, who clutched his head in agony. Indy turned to Mr. Foley, saying, "Give me something!"  
  
  
Mr. Foley quickly reached down to grab one of his props, and tossed his sound-effects whip to Indy. Indy grinned, and cracked the whip at Smith. The whip curled around Smith's wrist, and Indy jerked back on the whip, causing the gun to fly out of Smith's grip. Before Smith could recover, Scott and Indy jumped at Smith, and wrestled him to the ground. Mackie rushed over and took the two guns Smith got from Indy, and quickly ran away again. Jeff extricated himself from Hilary's grasp, and went to help Scott and Indy with Smith. They found some rope and tied him up.  
  
  
"Nice idea with the whip, there, Mr. Foley," Indy said with a grin. "How did you know?"  
  
  
Just then, the doors to the studio opened, and Mr. Eldridge ambled in. "Did someone call for the police?" He asked, as two officers rushed into the studio. "I thought our phones weren't working..."  
  
  
*****  
  
  
Somewhat later, after the police had gone, taking Smith into custody, and after most of the staff had left for the day, four people remained. Scott was on the newly-restored phone in the office, filling in Victor on the events of the day. Betty, Indy, and Indy's friend Marcus Brody stood near Gertie's switchboard.   
  
  
"You just can't keep out of trouble, can you, Indy?" Brody said, in an exasperated tone.  
  
  
"I got you your Key, didn't I?" Indy answered.  
  
  
"Well, yes, and the Museum will reward you handsomely, as usual. Oh, and you need to call home. You know, she gets so worried about you when you're on the road..."  
  
  
Betty heard that, and she felt... Well, she felt rather disappointed, frankly, she told herself. Oh come on, she thought, there was never any chance for you two, realistically... Was there?  
  
  
Indy nodded, "Yeah, I know."  
  
  
"And while you're at it," Brody continued, "you really should call your father as well..."  
  
  
"I know, Marcus," Indy said, rolling his eyes.  
  
  
Marcus headed for the door. "Coming?" He said to Indy.  
  
  
Indy paused, and said, "Give me a minute, will you, Marcus?"  
  
  
Brody shrugged. "Of course. Nice to have met you, Miss Roberts."  
  
  
"Nice to meet you, too, Mr. Brody," she replied. Brody left the station heading for the street, and the car waiting downstairs.  
  
  
Betty looked into Indy's eyes, and said, "It certainly has been an interesting day, Indy. I know I said before you weren't at all what I was expecting, but you weren't at all what I was expecting even then!"   
  
  
Indy looked at Betty, and could tell, could see it in her eyes. "Betty, listen to me. I know I may seem like some sort of saturday-morning adventure serial type to you right now, but I'm not your hero, I'm not who you need. You already have your hero."  
  
  
He turned to go, placing his fedora on his head. He looked back at Betty, and said with a cheeky grin, "And my hero's waiting at home for me." And he swept out of the door, out of WENN.  
  
  
Betty stood there for a moment. She looked at the switchboard, then turned to look back down the hallway, to see Scott emerge from the office. "Betty!" He exclaimed. "Victor was so excited, he wishes he could have been here with us. He said it was, and I quote, 'Quite appropriate to the exotic exploits already in evidence of this admirable adventurer.' Or something like that. I think his words were more along the lines of ten-dollar words, but with my salary, I can't really afford that kind of vocabulary."  
  
  
Betty nodded. "You handled yourself quite well today."  
  
  
"Me?" Scott said, perplexed. "Aw, think nothing of it. Just doing what I had to. Couldn't let that Nazi spy cause even more havoc with our station than we cause ourselves, could I?" He grinned his big charming grin.  
  
  
Betty smiled right back. "No, you couldn't at that, I suppose." She paused, looked at Scott, tried to picture him in a fedora, and ended up giggling.  
  
  
"What?" Scott asked, giggling himself. "What, Betty?"  
  
  
Betty shook her head. "Oh, nothing. Walk you to the trolley?"  
  
  
...The End...  
===========================================================  
Oh, and a "Thank you!" to Rebecca Immich for mentioning Indy's whip in a mailing list comment. I didn't even plan to feature a whip until Rebecca's comment, and then the wheels they started a-turnin' in my head...   
  
  
(Indiana Jones copyright Paramount Pictures and Lucasfilm, Ltd.)  



End file.
